


The First Days of Sun

by apologija



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bromance, Drug Use, Epic Bromance, Gen, Humanstuck, M/M, Mental Instability, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Second Person, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Schizophrenia, Swearing, scandalous usage of bromance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apologija/pseuds/apologija
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is your best motherfucking friend, and you love him like you ain't loved no one before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Days of Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grimalkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimalkin/gifts).



> Have some self indulgent humanstuck drivel. This is all based on the headcanons I share with my Gamkar partner in crime, Grimalkin, and is by that extent, also dedicated to Grimalkin. Thank you for everything, Ed.
> 
> AND NOW ED HAS DONE A SISTER FIC TO THIS ONE, READ IT HERE: http://archiveofourown.org/works/586449
> 
> This is the same AU of the humanstuck comic I did for my ask blog, Capricious Queries, right here:  
> http://capriciousqueries.tumblr.com/post/32616756148/a-movies-got-itself-sounding-all-kinds-miraculous  
> It is however, not related to Mountainstuck/Ascent into White, even though they look the same. Shh, I like the designs.
> 
> Gamzee perspective.
> 
> This fic wasn't really beta'd so if you notice anything really fucked let me know; edited it the best I could.
> 
> Also if I missed any tags, let me know.

You love that motherfucker.  
  
Ain’t a single doubt in your mind about that righteous shit.  
  
It ain’t shaped as no love romantic or motherfucking tainted lusty and physical, but that don’t mean you feel it any less.  
  
That brother’s there for you, been there for you for so long now when he ain’t got any such reasons to be making a stay. No matter what all brings itself down he’s unflappable in every motherfucking way.  
  
Until he made a saunter up and into your life you weren’t nothing but a lonely thing; the old goat was too busy with his shit to be giving you no second thoughts and you done killed your mama when you decided to make an entrance into the new experience what life is.  
  
Other motherfuckers offered no such comfort, the sickness in you playing a deft hand at keeping friendlies all at bay. They could smell it on you, motherfucking feel the darkness what got it’s lurk on and churned cruel and rowdy all down in you; twisting life and painting perceptions misleading at such an early age you ain’t never thought it was something unnatural.  
  
But they knew.  
  
And they avoided you because of such things. Your upbringing didn’t lend to no passivity, you didn’t known at it then but your pops was all playing ringleader of a heinous cartel and had a surround on with some riotous motherfuckers what did you no favours. It weren’t like he didn’t love you none, but you up and snatched away the one he loved the most, so he set his pawns to be all making a watch of you in his stead.  
  
Gangsters don’t an appropriate babysitter make.  
  
Maybe it was when you saw your first motherfucker get all shot full of holes what got the violence in you proper.  
  
Maybe it was just how you was born.  
  
All you know is that it came quick and heavy and your pops weren’t giving you no obvious kindness as you got yourself all suspended for the third time.  
  
Lost motherfucking cause was all you were.  
  
You got yourself acquainted like with the system all at an early age, in and out of the hall a few short stays until finally you up and did what couldn’t be settled with such ease.  
  
Motherfucker called you crazy.  
  
Said you ain’t nothing but creepy with how you get acting out at shit what he couldn’t see.  
  
What he couldn’t get his understand on was that it ain’t nothing but reality to you.  
  
You let him know you ain’t crazy.  
  
You let him know with fists and teeth and the violence that you ain’t anywhere near close.  
  
He fucked up your face but you fucked him up ten times as worse, cracking bone and tearing flesh ‘til he all stop motherfucking moving and ain’t nothing but a gurgle echoing up and out from him.  
  
They had to drag you off of him, full force in pinning you and motherfucking restraining you while you spit obscenities and fought like a dog gone rabid against them adult ass motherfuckers.  
  
You was only sixteen and a half when you almost killed that motherfucker.  
  
He lived but it weren’t much of a life from what they all up and told you later.  
  
Staring you down and looking for regret when they be spoon feeding you that business about how he ain’t never gonna walk right ever again and the scars you left of him and the mess you all made of that pretty face what he had.  
  
There ain’t no forgiveness for you, and it’s off to the detention proper, overcrowded and under motherfucking funded where little shits like you get all locked up with lofty goals of rehabilitation which ain’t never to come.  
  
There were no miracles to be found in that hell hole, and the sickness of you got at you good in the misery of that place. Every motherfucker was scared of you with how puberty made to gift you with a body all too big for you and making you look a grown ass motherfucker when you ain’t even legal, and what of your appearance didn’t make like to scare them, everything else about you did.  
  
Sounds unseen and sights unheard made an assault all down on you in that place, tearing at your brain and leaving you dangerous; they gave no hesitations in all stuffing you full of pills but you don’t like them none and how they be making you feel, making you robotic and stiff and all motherfucking detached. You think they’re poisoning you.  
  
You motherfucking know they’re all poisoning you.  
  
And you won’t let them.  
  
You become a master of cheeking meds and rejecting them swiftlike.  
  
Such as you also become a motherfucking pro at getting yourself all slammed down, locked up and sent to be sitting quiet in solitary.  
  
You’re dangerous, too dangerous to be staying up with all them righteous folk what your bunk mates and delinquents all acting. You don’t take your poison and don’t buy their lies, telling you what’s real as real can be ain’t nothing but a fake.  
  
Delusions and hallucinations playing havoc with your mind.  
  
But you know they’re real.  
  
They ain’t knowing what to do with you, setting you out of the solitude and it ain’t long before you’re acting up again, screaming for silence at the voices what haunt you, yelling a cease at visions unkind.  
  
Back and motherfucking forth is what your stay is made of, uncaring fuckers all giving you the side eye and the berth, whilst the quiet of your isolation only brings the fear in you.  
  
And the motherfucking loneliness.  
  
That wasn’t all to say you ain’t never found no joy in your keep; the lady was always nice at you, wasn’t she? Giving you supplies and bading you to spread colour and line all across what canvasses she made an offer of. You didn’t see her all much, but it was all a comfort when you did, got you grinning crooked as she watched you work, spilling words kind and encouraging when you done good and kept the cool down with you.  
  
She says you got talent pure and simple, and each week you get your excitement on to be drawing for her and receiving all what praise you never got before.  
  
That was ‘til she got a transfer on and you were left in loneliness all over again.  
  
Thus time ticked all on by as you kept your dance on between the surface and the depths, and it was in them depths when you heard the news.  
  
You’d been all hoping you might hear that the old goat is making a visit, come to see the son what loved him no matter how twisted things might be. Sometimes he did make a visit to you, when the sickness plagued heavy and things weren’t anymore what they should be, but always did such kinds of times fade to reality, and reality ain’t so kind to you.  
  
They tell you your pops is dead.  
  
Shot full of holes and made into corpseflesh.  
  
You don’t remember lashing out at them.  
  
You don’t remember three orderlies wrestling you down and shoving you full of sedation.  
  
You don’t remember all hospitalizing the motherfucker what came at you to bring the news.  
  
They make a remember of it, however, and it ain’t no coincidence that your sentence is stretched longer ‘til you hit your eighteenth, when they ain’t gotta fuck with no red tape seeing as you ain’t got no relations left to be accepting you no sooner.  
  
You never got to make a visit to your dad’s service; doped too heavily and made stupid by drugs what they made a force feed on with you, the violence you brought unforgivable for them to be all letting you reject the poison they give you.  
  
The remainder of your time in the hole ain’t nothing but a blur, disjointed thoughts of anger and agony, passivity and monotony all eating at your mind til it’s time for freedom and you’re all kicked the motherfuck out.  
  
It’s friends of your father what pick you up and feed you the news; daddy may not have been there, but that don’t mean he didn’t love you none. There’s a fat inheritance all sitting in a bank account set special like for you; he wished you happiness, even if he never made any contributions tangible to such things when they been mattering.  
  
You could have lived in the old house but you didn’t want it.  
  
Instead you make your settle on in the old bodyshop what, as you’ll find out in times later, acted all a cover for dirty business your old man made work of. It was a place familiar to you though, acting host to them times you all got your chill on with your pops and his bros, brought to work and acting like it’s all your motherfuckin playground. It’s run down and ain’t served no business in time a motherfucking while, but it’s good and all what you need.  
  
You don’t keep with no drugs what the quacks prescribed at you in detention, making no trust of the poison they peddle and the sabotage they bring, and instead you shift your interests a touch more herbal.  
  
The paranoia in you don’t play happy with the weed you smoke, but if you get toked up on enough of that wicked chronic then shit gets itself all mellowed and alllll manners of motherfucking chill. Almost like you’re all a real person when you ain’t smoked enough you can’t even move (which is all something what happens with frequency startling), but you need them big amounts to shut out the noises.  
  
To shut out the anger, frustration and the negativities that live within you.  
  
It’s easy enough to be starting your own grow op, babying them plants like they all your flesh and blood. They mean everything to you-- keep you sane, keep you quiet, because motherfuck if it ain’t the worst idea to fuck up all over again, get locked away in the thing what’s real, the lock up all set for the adult folks like you yourself are now being. It’s a miracle in how that shit is hashed a treatment, but it ain’t no actual fix. The pot’s just a thin veneer what hides the corruption trickling on through that brain of yours, the wrong and the foul that gets it fester on and makes you unworthy to be living with all them decent folks around you. It ain’t ever gonna repair what damage has been wrought, and in the end it’s a solution that’s naught but motherfucking temporary in the schemes of it all.  
  
And maybe you motherfucking know that.  
  
A year and half ticks on by in such isolation; setting up a business with your pot and meeting motherfuckers what only take advantage of you (though you don’t got the sense to know such things at the time). Companionship true still eludes you, but it’s hard to be sowing no cares when you got the haze down through you.  
  
That was until you met him.  
  
The single most important motherfucker you ever did meet.  
  
Who’d have all thought the negativity of a broken as shit train of the lightrail line would lead to such a meeting fortuitous. It’s the long tunnel what you’re stuck in, and the darkness and the crampedness has the scare down in you and you ain’t feeling any shade settle all sitting solo in the depths of it.  
  
But you ain’t truly alone and that motherfucker was to be your saviour.  
  
Even if you ain’t never made such friends, you got no problems with making a talk of folks, and motherfuck if the brother you get chatting with ain’t the grumpiest little shit you ever met, but he talks with you, actually motherfucking _talks_ even when he don’t want to and it helped you through what was otherwise making a challenge cruel of your nerves.  
  
Though your new bro was making company fine, you ain’t got the trust on your existing high all carrying you through what brought nothing but memories atrocious down on you, so you finished off what was making a lurk in your vape and made the best mistake you ever could.  
  
The haze you had already brought a brother like to orbit, but them strong hits what was left got your limbs all making a disagreement in moving in any way proper, everything of you feeling heavy and shades impossible to make a coordination of, and it was your new bro who didn’t have a single shitbit of affection all for you what helped you up.  
  
What helped you _home_.  
  
That motherfucker went above and beyond what was all required of him; bringing you in, getting you settled, showing you kindness you ain’t never seen in times before even if he was all making such an offensive noise at you the whole while. His words weren’t nothing but unkind, but them actions of his spoke in heaps opposite and it was nothing short of miraculous to you.  
  
You scarcely got your know on him but you all knew right the motherfuck then that this brother was all to be your very best motherfucking friend.  
  
Was because of this that once you woke from the sleep you all slipped into and didn't see that brother no more that you found an ache in you you ain't never felt so sharp before; deep and poignant tearing at the gut of you,  leaving you in such misery you can’t make a fathom of it. The brother what you got such a harsh affection for in times short was gone, and you ain't got a single way to be making contact with him.  
  
Three days passed in haze and heartache, ghost sounds making a knock all on your skull and prompting you up to take a check at the door and see if your bro ain't suddenly made like an arrival. The noises did you no kindness, the frequency which they kept being to eat at you like some unruly beast all upon your nerves, ‘til finally one such knock did come and when you made a check of it  
  
Your bro was standing there.  
  
At the time you could all hardly be believing what you got your see on but you ain't the type to be looking no gift horse in the motherfucking maw; quick as you please you had him in a hug, greeting him as proper of what your father shown at you when you was all a wee thing: a kiss to either cheek and a pat on the back, grin cracking wide over your features as you let him know how glad you are to lay eyes down on him.  
  
He calls you an idiot but he don't leave.  
  
In fact he keeps coming back, day after day, getting his chill on with you and sharing discourse like you ain't never done before. Talking movies and miracles and whatever nonsense all gets at your skull; brother's acting like a true motherfucking friend and you can't believe what fate has all given you.  
  
It ain't nothing but goodness for such a space of time; bro gets impatient with the haze you keep and when you get yourself so toked up it's hard to be making a follow on such words you ought be sharing, but it ain't never anything brooding rowdy until you up and act a royal fool, and he’s finally all out of patience.  
  
In all motherfucking fairness you were looking forward to the plans what you made at him. He'd been twitching excitement (all muted in how he acted normal but you could feel that shit in him like the world’s worst kept secret) to be seeing a release new by a brother whose work he had a tenacious appreciation for. You even made like to buy tickets special and all in advance, but motherfuck that don't count for shit when he shows up and you've toked yourself stupid on that ratty couch.  
  
You're higher than you'd been in awhile and the smoke all snatched what rememberance you ought have kept away from you, and it weren't the first time such things had come to past. Your bro's livid and in what was hindsight you can't get your blame on him-- your first motherfucking friend and you never act in manners suitable what you should have, letting the drug sneak thief plans and motherfucking things important from your mind and leaving you sprawled and clueless all like some worthless child.  
  
He's all rashness and impromptitude in his actions, and you don't even notice the sabotage ‘til the smoke is running thick and the flicker of flames is dancing across your eyes.  You're up in a second and he's standing there looking all like a mad dog meets sheepish, yet furious and making a stand of his ground in front of all your plants what were burning.  
  
He told you something like how you ain't doing nothing but wasting your life on this shit, how your dependence ain't healthy and that he's sick of talking to a motherfucker what don't even know about the noise he's making.  
  
Should have got your listen on him but the smoke and the fire is making a precedence all in your eyes, glaring cruel and motherfucking unseemly as the garage filled and you lost what cool you had.  
  
You didn't mean to punch him.  
  
Or be shoving him against no walls with his blood smeared across your knuckles and your fingers digging bruises in his flesh.  
  
It kills you to see the fear in his eyes.  
  
Motherfucking slays you to be witness to the reaction to the truth of you; the rearing head of the monster what lingered in your guts.  
  
He should have made to run all while he could, but the fucker don't do no such thing.  
  
The motherfucker hugs you instead.  
  
The fight runs out of you quicker than shit and leaves you feeling all like jelly in your knees, hardly able to make a stand as you lean into the arms he's offered, pulling him tight and cradling him close as he makes to whisper soothing words all down on your senses.  
  
Ain't no one ever done this for you before.  
  
And ain't no one what can blame you for the tears that came, running thick and gross down your face.  
  
Your brother stays with you that night as you make a talk of things; you ain't knowing how to spin no apologies proper to be laying into him, but you explain the truth of all things. About the sickness, about how you're made wrong and don't rightly be knowing how to keep your chill, how to be separating truth from fiction and all what paints a horror show of falsehoods across your senses. He gets his listen on, asking questions, pressing answers; you ain't able to spill no guts about your time in juvie, but he understands all the same and the two of you flap faces until you make a drift together, sleep claiming you both.  
  
When you awoke you expected him gone, made an escape while you weren't with the world no more, but it only takes one glance to know how wrong you are, the comforting weight of that motherfucker's head all resting across your thigh and bringing smiles genuine spread across your visage.  
  
Even so that don't make you any less nervous when the brother has to get his abscond on; he's got learning to do and motherfuck if he can't be missing no class right the fuck now and you get your nod on, painting what understand you could but you got the nerves in you.  
  
The day dripped by slow like and you start fearing that you ain't never gonna see him again, that you done fucked up and your only friend has no intentionals of making like a return.  
  
But that brother loves proving you wrong.  
  
Motherfucker practically lives for it.  
  
He's back sure as shit and looking tired but all happy to see you in his own way and it ain't even been a day but you greet him formal like and he thinks you ain't nothing but stupid to get yourself all worked up just to see him again.  
  
You can't help it though.  
  
Time slips slowly between you, and that brother ain't nothing but loyal as he makes a visit every day, chilling with you as long as he can while still balancing what necessities he's got; work and school play havoc on him, sowing stress you know you ain't helping with but it feels good to be made a fuss of just the same.  
  
Just all fusses ain't positive, and your brain can't abide with what happiness you found.  
  
You were making a wander of parts downtown when it took hold of you; overpowering and strong and twisting reality in ways you don't even make identification of the deceit. It's as real as all else and suddenly you're acting out, acting dangerous in places public and making your yell on at shit what ain't there for the good and normal folks. Don't take long til the threat of you is enough to be making you detained, you lash out but you're lucky you ain't hurt none of them badge wearing fuckers what restrain you-- makes your life easier in the later, but right now motherfuck if you ain't got yourself all locked down.  
  
You're taking to the jail proper and given the one call you deserve-- they want to get at you, get some of your blood and check for substances in you but you ain't chill with none of that shit and you ain't cooperative by any stretch. You demand the call what's deserved of you, and they make a figure that they all might as well.  
  
When you call your bro it's hard to keep from stumbling words, desperation eating at you while he all tries to figure out what's wrong. The restraints do you no favours; memories foul and memories unfair digging claws deep of the time you spent in that place, and you don't wanna go to no prison proper.  
  
You don’t want to be reliving none of that hell.  
  
Through the hysterics you sling your bro gets a figure on what's all gone wrong and it ain't long before he's showing up, spilling the wicked news what ails you and getting you all signed over at him because they don't got no reason to keep you, and motherfuck if they don't want you gone.  
  
It's then that your bro realizes the seriousness of the situation; seeing first hand what could happen, the sad motherfucking truth what you live in with all actuality.  
  
It's a day later that he tells you the news, that he thinks you two ought live all together so he can be keeping eyes on you and being all there for you. The day had been fuzzy previous like, the the episode just a day before still fresh on your mind, you ain't sure if you can be believing nothing he says. Paranoia grips at you proper that this ain't nothing but some delusion new, that he ain't actually saying such miraculous words and that you ain't just been struck luckier than you ever been.  
  
Even though you got nothing but skepticism down in you, you go along with all what your brother makes a say of. He's doing budgets and crunching money all trying to figure out how you can be affording a place together, what he has too small to support him let alone your giant ass, but you ain't able to make a solid figure of what he's doing, numbness of disbelief still hanging relentlessly over you.  
  
That was ‘til you all got your look on at the second place.  
  
Was a loft; main room, bathroom and one tiny bedroom that ain't hardly just, with an open air second floor where the bedroom proper was all making it's existence. Motherfucker had a sick set of stairs all spiraling up like it was all trying to be some kind of motherfucking lighthouse, and the place weren't huge but big enough for two of you and motherfuck if it ain't the most righteous thing you ever did saw.  
  
Your bro can tell you like it and he takes all the info proper and you guys make a plan to go grab some grub whilst you make a discussion on what you just saw.  
  
It don’t take long to find a place.  
  
And its once food’s in hand and you're all sitting with your bro at a dinky table, looking over the pamphlet what he'd been given, that it hits you hard and urgent that this ain't no delusion.  
  
It was happening.  
  
It was actually motherfucking happening.  
  
In the true and the real of it your bro was making sacrifices what he didn’t have to so you two could be making a live on together.  
  
So that he could be there for you, be your very best friend despite how motherfucking broken you were.  
  
Despite the fact that you ain't nothing but a loose cannon what gets the creep on most motherfuckers.  
  
He don't care about none of that.  
  
He likes you all the same.  
  
You can't make a stop on the tears what come, or the low and guttural noises what leak from you as your chest tightens and everything hurts but it hurts in a way you ain't never know and motherfuck don't it feel good.  
  
For once in your motherfucking life you're wanted.  
  
For once in that existence once worthless you now ain't nothing but necessary.  
  
You make a scene with the strength of your tears and your bro's got his face all red with embarrassment but that don't stop him from getting his comfort on, holding you gentle and calling you a dumb idiot baby for crying like you are. You can't help it none though, and he seems to understand-- he got the feel on that your brain was playing dumb with before, and now acceptance was here proper.  
  
But that motherfucker always understood.  
  
He is after all, your very best motherfucking friend.  
  
And you love him like you ain't loved no motherfucker before.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Rapper's Despair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/935360) by [Mtorolite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mtorolite/pseuds/Mtorolite)




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